


The Next Chapter

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Eye Horror, Fluff, M/M, Self-Mutilation, Written before 266 so doesn't follow current storyline, but there's a light at the end of the tunnel, very angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the loss against Seirin, Akashi Seijuro lost everything, and to rebuild his life from the bottom will require more sacrifices than he would have thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Next Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday fic for ensui-no (exordia) on tumblr.

If Seijūrō had been raised to dictate his worth by anything other than his immutability, then his life would have turned out completely differently. It had been years since he’d wished he was like everyone else, but within a moment of being completely weak and dependent those wishes rose to the surface.

Hands were on his shoulders but he couldn’t see them. He faced forwards resolutely.

“What were you thinking, Seijūrō…?”

He had asked that question himself, but this time it was from the owner of the hands on his shoulders.

“That I have to cut away anything that’s useless in my life.”

By the way the man’s breath caught in his throat and his hands tightened he recognised them as a paraphrase of what he’d repeated time and time again. “You know this was much too extreme. How are you going to adapt?”

Seijūrō didn’t say that he _had_ acclimatised in the time the man had been away. His son’s admission into hospital hadn’t been quite enough to bring him back to the country within the first fortnight. Instead, he rose, found the handle of the door and held it open. “I’m sure visiting hours are over, father.”

His father gave a slightly disgruntled sigh. “Are you doing this to punish me, Seijūrō?”

Seijūrō reached up to the soft bandage over his eyes and trailed his fingertips down his cheek, where he was sure the blood still stained his skin. It did in his mind; he could hardly remember what his eyes looked like any more but he was still fascinated by how the blood had gone over his cheeks and how it had sprayed across the mirror and he’d watched it for a few calm moments before decimating the other, leaving himself in darkness. His skin had always been beautiful, though a lot paler than his Japanese heritage should have allowed it, but Seijūrō was certain it would look better entirely enveloped in red. “Certainly not. I did what I had to.”

He expected his father to walk out with nothing more than a short goodbye, so when a warm hand touched his hair he was startled. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said. There was a quick pressure of lips on Seijūrō’s forehead before he felt the presence leave.

——-

It was the normal nightmare that night. Starting off like usual; he was watching himself in the mirror and though his cheeks were covered in blood and it was like a firework across the glass, his eyes were intact. As he watched blood continued seeping and fell from his jaw to join the puddle on the floor.

But surely his eyes hadn’t been that bright. His mind must have been making up for the darkness left in consciousness by brightening everything in his dreams. They almost emitted light themselves.

He felt the warmth behind him and braced himself as bloody handprints started covering the mirror. His blood? Another’s? No way to tell. The breathing was light in his ear but still enough to make him shiver. Only his eyes remained visible in the mirror, widened with terror. There was a whisper which he could neither decipher nor recognise. The blood covered his eyes and everything was black.

——-

“So you have nightmares?”

Seijūrō reclined on the sofa. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not every night.”

Seijūrō frowned and rubbed at the bandage until the boy next to him—who always attended these sessions alongside him—scolded him and tugged his hand away. “So what? I’m used to nightmares. They don’t bother me.”

The silence was heavy, and Seijūrō sighed—without seeing their expressions it was difficult to know what they were thinking. Unconsciously, his hand moved to the bandage again. “So help me, Sei, I will _weld_ your hand to your leg if you don’t stop messing with the bandage.”

Seijūrō faced the boy as precisely as he could. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

The boy didn’t let go of his hand.

He was an odd one, a permanent fixture at the ward where Seijūrō was, apparently gathering experience to become a psychoanalyst himself. But the strangest part was how nervous he was; sometimes he even shook the sofa with his trembling and his voice very rarely let out an entire phrase without quivering. Still, he scolded and did his best to keep Seijūrō in line and Seijūrō found himself listening, to a point.

“Are you going to let go of my hand?”

The boy, after a sigh, did so, but Seijūrō could almost feel the weight of his gaze when he turned back to the front.

“What’s the nightmare like, then?”

His mind was flooded with images of his face twisted with fear and the blood covering the mirror (who _was_ it covering the mirror with blood?) and he shook his head. “It’s just a nightmare. It’s not like it means anything.”

“Quite the contrary. Your dreams will reveal genuine anxieties, Akashi-kun.”

“I don’t have any anxieties.”

“Is that why you mutilated yourself?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from next to him and Seijūrō shook his head. “Calm down, Kōki,” he said. The boy shifted in his seat. “That’s not what it was. Anything which is useless is cut out of my life. I won’t waste my time.”

There was a _ding_ from a bell, but for the first time he wasn’t dismissed right away. “What you did to yourself was a product of unending stress and a fundamental displeasure with who you are—”

“There’s no reason that I should survive; it’s only the winners who are selected. If you’d let me I’d give up the medication.”

“ _Sei_.”

“You are not of sound mind, Akashi-kun.”

Seijūrō was more inclined to believe that the rest of the world was not of sound mind if they didn’t think like him. Humans could be so emotional and weak sometimes. Like the boy next to him; unworthy of being anything but naïve and helpless tools. But knowing when to pick his fights, he merely quietly said that the man was too optimistic and stood to leave the room, hearing Kōki follow him. “You should listen to him. Don’t you want to be happy?”

“Are you a child?”

“Sei—”

“If I’m happy as a result of doing something worthwhile, then fine. But I won’t pursue something for the sake of being happy.”

“I think the problem is that you’re not enough of a child.” His hand was on Seijūrō’s elbow, and Seijūrō let him lead the way back to his room. “You’re only sixteen. Try to remember that.”

“So? How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

Seijūrō shook his head in exasperation. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be right now? Why are you focussing on me so much?”

He didn’t answer for a while and Seijūrō had almost stopped caring. “Because I really think you have a chance.”

“To what? Grow a new pair of eyes?”

The hand squeezed his elbow and he stopped the time for Kōki to open the door. “Of course not. But you don’t need to see to be happy.”

“You don’t need to be happy to live and win.”

The goodbye Kōki gave him was clipped enough that Seijūrō could tell that he was angry. From prior knowledge, it wouldn’t last the evening; the boy was too much of… an _idiot_ to hold onto anger and let it make him grow stronger. These compassionate types were the worst of hypocrites.

——-

Seijūrō was pretty sure that his father spent the majority of his next visit emailing clients and colleagues, and in retribution said nothing to him the entire visit, except at the end.

“You don’t have to visit, you know.”

The door stopped in its tracks, only half open. “What?”

“You don’t have to visit if you don’t really want to. I don’t mind.” And he didn’t. It would be an entirely normal child who would ever be bothered by such things. And Seijūrō enjoyed being alone.

“I do want to visit.”

Seijūrō leant his head back.

“I want to make things _right_ , Seijūrō. Maybe… maybe it was partly my fault, what…” Apparently unable to continue, Seijūrō heard the raking breath he took in from the other side of the room. “Your mother would have known. She would have saved you.”

He hadn’t thought about his mother in over a year. What time of year was it again… January? Just over a month since the anniversary of her death then.

It almost didn’t surprise him when in his dreams that night it was her face in the mirror, as emaciated as the last time he’d seen her.

——-

Kōki was humming softly when he walked into Seijūrō’s room, which irritated him. If it hadn’t been for the times before the incident that he had seen him, Seijūrō would have believed the boy was an actual idiot in his never-ending happiness.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to make this place look a little nicer. It’s so depressing in here.”

“Is it really,” Seijūrō said dryly, trying his best to make his sentiments known when Kōki batted his shoulder. It seemed to work when his shoes squeaked against the floor as he backed away, walking into what Seijūrō presumed was a table and yelping. “Did you bring in flowers?” he asked curiously as a wave of scent washed over him.

“Yes. I told you; it’s depressing in here.”

That boy was starting to give him a headache. He tugged at the bandage until Kōki scolded him and pulled his hand away, but kept hold when Kōki tried to retract. “Why do you stay with me, then?”

“Because… I think you need someone.” He was closer than Seijūrō had thought, but it didn’t bother him. “And you could be someone even more incredible than you were before when you get through this.”

“If.”

“I’m not just being optimistic here, Sei.”

“You’re a fool.”

He wondered at his own tone then, let alone the slight longing in Kōki’s. If only he’d been thinking clearer after the loss and hadn’t lost himself in the relief of pain he would have known what he was thinking; the boy was an open book, after all. He had never before seen eyes so free of subterfuge and fog.

“And anyway,” Kōki continued, ignoring what Seijūrō said and laughing slightly nervously. “I kind of met you before. You probably don’t remember me—”

“I remembered.”

“What? You… you did?”

“Yes. You came with Tetsuya just before the winter cup and you…” This part was difficult to force out; he had to squeeze his free hand in the blankets of his bed. “You scored against me. And I… lost.”

It was the first time he’d said it aloud since he’d been looking in the mirror, a knife squeezed tight enough in his hand that he could feel the plastic of the handle against his bones. Whispering it over and over, he’d wondered why he wasn’t crying. He’d seen Shintarō and Atsushi crying after they lost, the two who had cared the least about winning at basketball. Certainly letting out his emotions in that way would be natural and maybe even healthy. Reo and Kotarō had cried.

But until then he’d been emotionless. Even at his mother’s death, he hadn’t shed a tear. So instead he made himself weep tears of blood.

A hand brushing through his hair brought him back. “Sei, you’ll be fine.”

Seijūrō kept still and didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had nothing left to feel fine about.

——-

“So how long will you be in here for, Akashi-kun?”

Seijūrō turned his face to where the breeze was coming through the open window and let out a sigh when the scent of flowers reached him again. Kōki had continued bringing them and taking out old ones, and every time he smelt them Kōki would be in his mind. It was… comforting.

“As long as they keep me. I have no say in the matter.” Admitting that he had no control over what was happening to him caused a nervous thump in his heart.

“They said that you’re not of sound mind.” Tetsuya’s tone bothered him; he hadn’t realised just how much he’d relied on small shifts in posture and expression to understand what he meant in his words.

“I am of perfectly sound mind. They’re wrong.”

The silence after was oppressive. He knew, at least, what Tetsuya was thinking here. _‘But you mutilated yourself. You couldn’t be of sound mind.’_

“For your information,” he continued when the silence was too much. “It was my own choice to do what I did and I don’t regret it whatsoever.” He could feel the lie in his voice when he said it, so naturally Tetsuya would have noticed.

He didn’t have to do it, did he? He’d been overtaken by passion like that time in his third year of middle school; only instead of ending up bettering himself by the loss of stupid, petty emotions, he’d made a mistake. He’d made himself weaker. He reached up to pull at the bandage and felt the ghost of Kōki’s hand pulling it away and scolding him good-naturedly.

The door opened and someone—Seijūrō could only presume it was Ryōta by the clattering—entered.

“Kise-kun, you really shouldn’t be so loud.”

“It’s fine, Kurokocchi. Aka-Akashicchi?” He couldn’t hide the quiver in his voice nor the intake of breath. “Y-you… oh, you already have a lot of flowers.”

“Do I?” Seijūrō said. He knew _that_. He’d started counting the times Kōki would come in and bring flowers or take some away, he was well aware that his room was filled with them.

“No matter!” he said, forcing cheer and moving some of the vases around. “Aominecchi got me to buy this too.” He threw something soft into Seijūrō’s lap and Seijūrō closed his hands around it. Some kind of plush…

“A lion?” he guessed when he felt something akin to a mane.

There was a smile in Ryōta’s voice. “Yep! You like lions, don’t you?”

Seijūrō smiled before he could stop himself. “Yes, I do.”

Ryōta filled up the room enough with his personality that it honestly felt empty when he left and Tetsuya remained, leaving the atmosphere uncomfortable enough that Seijūrō could only hope that, even if it was his day off, Kōki would come in for a few minutes.

He really did miss him, and could only dread what that meant.

“So you’re in therapy?”

Seijūrō tried to convey ‘narrowed eyes’ without actually having eyes or currently-visible eyebrows. “Why would I be in therapy?” He pushed away the angry words he’d said two days before at his previous session and the way he had _felt_ Kōki’s disappointment permeating the air. Losing his sight really made memories more vivid.

Tetsuya’s gaze must have been accusatory and Seijūrō breathed out sharply. “It’s more informal talks than actual therapy.”

“Because you refused therapy?”

“That was the middle ground. My father wanted me to be in therapy.”

“Why are you not?”

“Because I don’t need it,” he said through gritted teeth. Right now, Tetsuya was putting his status as one of the few people Seijūrō was fond of on the line. “I’m not so weak as to not understand my own mind.”

“Just the minds of others,” he said under his breath.

“There’s no worth in being sympathetic.”

There was a small sigh, and Tetsuya squeezed his hand. “I’ll be back when I can, Akashi-kun.”

——-

The dream was different again that night. His face in the mirror, the presence behind him, the bloody handprints covering his reflection had an even more menacing feel to it. His eyes were fearful, but instead of the blood covering their reflection the mirror cracked, and the handprints stopped. His face was cracked in two, and it was spreading. His eyes were warped, and each shard reflected his emperor eye, what he’d begun to think of as the start of his troubles.

The voice echoed behind him, but this time he understood the words. He froze, the base of his spine tingling with nerves, and obeyed.

He turned.

He wasn’t alone in the room, but the figure standing there wasn’t the one who had spoken. Tetsuya’s left eye was covered with a bandage, which draped to reveal a mangled eye as Seijūrō watched the blood drip down to his chin. The other eye, still intact, looked at Seijūrō reproachfully.

“What do you want me to say?” Seijūrō hissed. Tetsuya didn’t reply. “That I’m sorry? I’m _not_.”

He approached Tetsuya and tore the bandage from him, not even wincing as blood splattered against his face. “Whatever you are, _leave_.”

The other eye twisted in the socket before Tetsuya cried out in pain, falling to his knees and holding his hands in front of it as blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers.

Difficult enough to watch someone he cared about writhing in pain, Seijūrō could do nothing but turn away, look for an escape. A window, set in the wall next to the mirror. A figure was standing in the mirror, a familiar figure, but Seijūrō refused to look. He leapt from the window.

——-

“How are the nightmares coming?”

Seijūrō shook his head. “What are you talking about? They’re nightmares. Is there supposed to be some kind of progression?”

“Maybe. Some small details changing?”

The image of Tetsuya curled up in pain, blood spurting through his fingers filled his mind. He fought it back with… not so much an _image_ , but with Kōki. “Nothing whatsoever,” he lied lightly. “Where’s Kōki?” he asked to change the subject.

“He’s not well, so he’s taking a few days off.”

“O-oh.” He pinched his own leg when he faltered, and could almost hear the doctor’s eyebrows raising as he took note.

“And what does Kōki signify to you?”

Seijūrō frowned and tugged at the bandage before slowly lowering his hand. “He scolds me a lot.”

“And?”

“So I should want to get rid of him, shouldn’t I? I should want to eliminate anything that gets in my way.”

“Do you feel like he’s getting in your way?”

“No,” Seijūrō admitted. “It feels like… he’s the only one who would talk to me openly because he actually cares about _me_ instead of what I represent.” He felt idiotic and weak for having revealed so much, and for the first time since he’d been admitted and forced to take these sessions, it actually felt like a therapy session. Kōki was no longer there as a buffer; he could no longer think of it as a relatively informal talk. But instead of feeling like he was being oppressed and weakened, he felt lighter.

“So you want him to stay with you?”

Seijūrō didn’t answer and faced away, to where he could feel a breeze through the open window. “What month is it?” he asked.

“Just turned February.”

“Then I haven’t known him long enough to know,” he lied. “But at the moment all I want is to monopolise him. That’s all I do with people anyway.”

“And why is that?”

“What’s with all the questions?”

“Answer.”

He took a breath through his teeth and crossed his arms. “That’s all people are there for. There are those who monopolise and those stupid and naïve enough to be monopolised. Unfortunately, Kōki belongs to the latter group. I would be going against nature if I didn’t use him.”

There was a pause and Seijūrō squared his shoulders.

“I’m afraid our time is up.”

Seijūrō stood up automatically but still faced the direction his voice had come from. “The bell didn’t ring.”

“It’s stopped working.”

“It felt shorter than an hour.”

“How quick time flies when one is having fun?”

“ _Tch_.” Seijūrō was sure the man was lying, but getting out of this was preferable even if he was being screwed over, so he retrieved the stick one of the nurses had handed to him that morning and slowly made his way back to his room.

——-

The energy which entered the room when Reo and Kotarō visited was enough to worry even Seijūrō, especially when he couldn’t see exactly what they were doing and judge his own movements from that. He hadn’t fully realised until he’d been blinded how full of energy they both were, when every time Kotarō spoke he was in a different part of the room and somehow moving soundlessly from place to place.

“Kotarō, would you mind staying still? You’re disorienting me.”

He winced when Reo shouted at him in a high-pitched voice, “You should be more aware of who is around you! And act your _age_!”

“Sorry, Reo-nee. Sorry, Akashi,” he said meekly, his voice lower down. He’d finally sat. Seijūrō breathed a sigh of relief.

“How are you, then, Sei-chan? You’re not still in pain, right?” Reo said, fussing over his hair and straightening his clothes.

“I’m—get off me, Reo—I’m fine. I wasn’t in pain anyway.”

“You weren’t?”

“See who’s bothering him now,” Kotarō said under his breath.

Seijūrō heard Reo taking in a breath, ready to launch accusations in Kotarō’s direction and interjected before they could give him a headache. “How’s training?”

“O-oh. It’s alright. Difficult without you.”

“Most of the first years are being cocky little shits,” Kotarō said.

“He asked me.”

“Oh, shut up, Reo-nee.”

Seijūrō rubbed his temple and tugged at his bandage, stopping them abruptly. “Is it bothering you, Sei-chan? Do you want me to call someone?”

“No, it’s fine. Continue.”

There was a little huff from Kotarō’s direction. Seijūrō suspected Reo had given him a triumphant look. “Well, as Hayama said in such a crass way, the first years are being difficult. I’m doing my best to keep on top of them and I suppose… Hayama is helping as well. Eikichi is doing his best too.”

“Where is he, by the way?”

“Remedial class,” Kotarō answered. Reo, surprisingly, didn’t object. “He’s not doing all that well in Japanese.”

“And Mayuzumi-senpai?”

“W-we don’t know. I haven’t seen him around school and he isn’t going to the roof any more at lunch. He didn’t even officially quit the basketball team, just stopped showing up.”

Seijūrō didn’t take a breath in until he was sure that it wouldn’t hitch in his throat. After all, any attraction he’d had to Chihiro was short-lived, long over even before the final of the winter cup and entirely physical. Feeling hurt was ridiculous.

After an absence of talking (during which Kotarō started bouncing in his chair and Reo’s sighs became more pronounced) Reo tentatively resumed. “How long will you be in here, Sei-chan? When are you coming back to school?”

“And what do we tell people in the meantime?” Kotarō added.

“I won’t be coming back.”

Reo gasped and took hold of his shoulders. “You can’t die, Sei-chan! You’re much too young for that!”

“Reo, let go of me. I didn’t _mean_ that; I’m just not going back to Rakuzan.”

“Why not?”

“My father suggested that I be home-schooled as it would be a bit more difficult now,” he gestured to where his eyes had been and felt like rolling them when they said ‘Oh’ in unison.

“So you won’t be coming back to the basketball club?”

“I doubt I could play anymore.”

“I suppose… so what do we tell people?”

Seijūrō took a deep breath, wincing slightly when he realised the scent of flowers were fading—when was Kōki returning?—and straightened his back. “Tell them the truth.”

“The entire truth? That you…?” Reo stopped talking and even Kotarō was completely silent.

“Yes.”

“But… why? Are you sure there’s any worth in telling them?”

It was the question he couldn’t entirely answer himself, but what he _had_ become certain of was that he didn’t want any more misconceptions or subordinates. That only lead to pain; he wanted friends who would stand by him. “Maybe not, but I don’t want you to lie for me.”

“Oh!” Reo was shocked, but after a moment he patted at Seijūrō’s hair again. “You know we’d do it for you, Sei-chan.”

“We would,” Kotarō interjected.

“Don’t lie for me,” he repeated.

“I thought you’d changed when you didn’t demand to change hospitals.”

“Why would I change hospitals?”

“Well, seeing as this is a public hospital—”

“This is a _public_ hospital?”

Kotarō snickered as Reo stopped patting his hair. “You didn’t know?”

“Why on earth did you bring me to a public hospital?” Seijūrō exclaimed.

“Sei-chan, when I walked in you were lying unconscious in a pool of your own blood, and your eyes—!” He took a shuddering breath. “That was honestly the worst moment of my life. I called an ambulance and they took you to the nearest hospital, which happened to be here! I didn’t think about bringing you to a _private_ hospital, I was trying to save your _life_. And I suppose they thought what happened was traumatic enough that they didn’t want to move you.”

“No wonder the food is so awful,” Seijūrō muttered.

“I’ll bring you something next time I’m down. Oh, and do you want me to change the flowers? Quite a few of them are dead.”

“Is that so?” Seijūrō said, ignoring when Reo huffed. “Leave them. They’ll be sorted out soon.”

“Are you su—?”

“Reo.”

He stopped talking and Seijūrō settled back, content that what he had of Kōki wouldn’t be altered.

——-

When Kōki still hadn’t returned three days after Kotarō and Reo had visited, Seijūrō—having made Shintarō make his phone a bit friendlier to someone who was blind—pressed the speed dial for Tetsuya’s phone.

“Akashi-kun? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s just…” he trailed off, realising that he hadn’t thought about how he would broach the subject. This would have been so much easier if he’d gotten Kōki’s number.

“Yes?”

“I… was just wondering about how Kōki was doing.”

“Kōki?”

“Furihata Kōki.” Pulling at the bandage, he wondered whether he’d given away too much.

“Oh. Yes, he’s doing better. I went to see him today, in fact.”

“You did?”

“Yes. And he asked me how you were doing.”

Seijūrō’s heart picked up as his stomach flipped. As ridiculous as feeling such things were, he almost enjoyed the sensation. His palms tingled as he answered. “He did?”

“Akashi-kun, forgive me for being forward, but why are you so concerned about him?”

Seijūrō took a deep breath. Some remnants of the flowery scent were still in the room. “He volunteers here.”

“Yes. He wants to work with people who are mentally troubled. Do you spend much time together?”

“I mostly use him as a buffer,” Seijūrō admitted. “That’s all it is. He’s… a friend, I suppose.”

He knew Tetsuya could hear the lie and braced himself for the questions that would surely follow.

“Of course. He’ll be back at work tomorrow, Akashi-kun.”

Seijūrō frowned and almost commented on the lack of probing questions before biting his tongue. “Thank you for informing me.”

“Of course, Akashi-kun.”

Pretty sure that Tetsuya was laughing at him, he hung up and shook his head agitatedly. All he could hope was that Tetsuya wouldn’t tell Kōki.

——-

Kōki arrived in the early afternoon the next day, entering the room and immediately saying, “What did you do to the _flowers_?”

Seijūrō raised his eyebrows. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Kōki, I’m blind. It doesn’t bother me because I can’t see them.”

“No one else would change them? Did you scare everyone off?” He was more confident than he had been before, which perked Seijūrō’s interest. “Hold these,” he added, thrusting a bouquet of sorts into Seijūrō’s arms and bustling around him. “Is this lion plush yours?”

“Yes. Ryōta gave it to me.” It joined the flowers, which Seijūrō identified with his fingertips. “Roses?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What colour are they?”

There was a pause, before Kōki answered in a small voice. “Red.”

Whether that choice actually meant anything or not, Seijūrō’s breath still caught in his throat.

“It’s what’s growing at the moment,” he continued, but he still sounded slightly uncomfortable. “You seem tired,” he added in a soft voice, taking the flowers from Seijūrō and walking in the direction of the window. “Are you still having the same nightmare?”

“More or less.” It hadn’t changed since the addition of Tetsuya. Every time the same unidentifiable voice ordering him to turn around, Tetsuya’s injuries, the figure in the mirror which he refused to contemplate and the fall which woke him up to a racing heartbeat as if he actually had fallen.

“Sei,” Kōki said reproachfully. He caught the hand that Seijūrō hadn’t realised had started tugging at the bandage and laced his fingers through Seijūrō’s. “Are you still going to the sessions?”

“Yes,” Seijūrō answered, tightening his grip on Kōki’s hand. “But it’s worse when you’re not there.”

“You’re going to have to get used to thinking of those sessions as therapy, Sei. And I can’t be there for that. We just want you to get better.”

He clenched his teeth when Kōki used ‘ _we_ ’—so impersonal and dismissive—and Kōki let go of his hand as if it had caught alight.

“I should really go,” he said, the quiver going back into his voice. “I’ll bring more flowers later.”

“Wait, Kōki.”

“Uh, yeah?” His voice was slightly muffled, but Seijūrō couldn’t work out why.

“You’ve been away for days.”

“So?”

Seijūrō’s throat was closing up. Had Tetsuya told him after all, and Kōki, cowardly as always, was trying to let him down without outright admitting his indifference? “How have you been?” he asked, congratulating himself when his voice was completely composed.

“Fine. I just had ‘flu.”

His tone was apathetic enough that Seijūrō stopped himself from physically reaching for him. It was the same as with Reo and Kotarō; he didn’t want people who just obeyed him mindlessly anymore but people who decided to stand alongside him. He just hadn’t expected that the biggest challenge would present itself so early on.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” His voice wasn’t muffled any more.

“You’re acting really… meek.”

The bed dipped with Kōki’s weight as he sat and tugged Seijūrō’s hand away from the bandage. “You do that when you’re nervous, don’t you?” he asked softly.

“Kōki.” He sighed as Seijūrō grabbed hold of his wrist. “If you really want to leave you can.”

“I-I don’t want to leave.”

“Then what is it? Did Tetsuya talk to you?”

“Tet…? Well, yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

He sounded confused enough—and Seijūrō knew he was a bad enough actor to not be able to fake confusion that well—that he felt compelled to send a silent apology Tetsuya’s way. “Nothing.”

“It’s just that I realised that… I, well…”

“Kōki.”

“Oh, give me some time. It’s difficult.”

Seijūrō bit back a smile and stroked his thumb over the back of Kōki’s hand patiently.

“I realised,” he finally continued. “When I was away from you, that I didn’t _want_ to be away from you.”

“You did?” Seijūrō said as calmly as he could.

“Are you laughing at me?”

He sounded distraught, and tried to pull his hand away before Seijūrō brought it to his lips and kissed the back of his hand. “Oh,” he said. His hand started trembling and he lightly traced Seijūrō’s jaw—making a shiver travel up his spine—and kissed him, pressing closer when Seijūrō tangled his hands into soft hair.

That night was one of the few when he didn’t dream.

——-

“So one of the things that we need to think about now is general rehabilitation.”

Seijūrō crossed his legs and frowned in the general direction of the voice. “I don’t think you really need to worry about that, father.”

He jumped when his father slammed something down on his bed—maybe some paperwork?—and almost shouted, “I’m allowed to care about my son, aren’t I?” When Seijūrō didn’t respond he sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Seijūrō stopped himself from biting back a sarcastic remark. “Yes, you are. What were you thinking?”

“There’s learning Braille, which obviously will be a necessity. I talked to that boy who volunteers—Furihata?—and he mentioned getting a guide dog.” Seijūrō had the distinct impression that the cough was to hide a laugh at the face he pulled. “I thought you wouldn’t be fond of that idea, but dogs are loyal and it will be very well behaved. You liked dogs when you were a child.” Seijūrō still shuddered but waved a hand.

“I suppose I can look into it.”

“I can do that. And if you still want to work for the company then I can make it a bit easier for you.”

Seijūrō, though well aware that his father was trying his hardest, still flinched slightly when he kissed his forehead and apologised through his teeth when he sighed. “I am trying. I hope you appreciate that. I want to make things better, Seijūrō.”

When Seijūrō didn’t respond, thinking instead about how the scent of flowers had become overwhelming again and the breeze through the window was gradually getting warmer. His father said goodbye from the direction of the door and Seijūrō nodded in response.

——-

“You’re quieter than usual, Sei.” Seijūrō roused himself from a daydream about basketball and accepted some tea from Kōki when he handed it over. “I put some sugar in there,” he added in a slightly disgruntled voice. Seijūrō smirked; it wasn’t often that Kōki would allow him sugar.

“Special occasion?”

“You’re quiet. Did it…?” he trailed off as Seijūrō waited for the explanation. “Uh…”

“Go on,” Seijūrō insisted.

“Did everything go well with your father?”

Seijūrō took a sip of the tea, almost sighing at the sweet flavour that he hadn’t been able to experience in close to several months now. “Yes. It’s not really what I expected.”

“You thought he would take it badly?”

“He did to begin with. But he’s being particularly amicable now.”

“So that’s a good thing, right?”

Seijūrō laughed at Kōki’s naivety and tightened his hand around the handle of the cup. “It’s just to appease his own conscience.”

The bed dipped as Kōki sat down next to him and Seijūrō could almost sense how he was frowning at him. “Sei—”

“I’m not going to try harder just for the sake that he’s my father.”

“But he’s trying harder.”

“And I told you that it’s just to appease his own conscience.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree,” Kōki said gently, a smile in his voice. Seijūrō almost responded automatically that he was absolute and Kōki disagreeing with him was a minor issue at best, but Kōki’s soft lips pressed against his for a chaste, quick kiss. Seijūrō decided that the argument was a minor issue itself, and pushed it to one side.

“I think your father’s lined up a couple of possible guide dogs for when you go back home,” he said softly after a few minutes, having settled next to Seijūrō with his head on his shoulder and tracing along his chest with his fingertips.

Seijūrō turned his head away, but not before Kōki saw his expression—he had graduated to a thinner bandage, which now revealed his eyebrows and made reading him slightly easier. “You’re not excited? I’ve always wanted a dog. Until Nigou came along I was hardly able to even see one, but he’s more Kuroko’s dog than mine.”

“Then by all means you take it. I don’t like dogs. They disobey.”

Although he didn’t hear anything, Seijūrō was pretty sure from the way his body shook that Kōki was laughing. “Don’t be embarrassed. Kagami’s scared of dogs too.”

“I’m not _scared_ —”

“Were you bitten too?”

“I told you that I’m not scared.”

“Okay,” he said, still amused. He moved, shifting the bed, and Seijūrō held onto the frame as Kōki straddled his waist. “You know that guide dogs are obedient, right? They have to be.”

“I still don’t trust them. Especially when I can’t see them.” Kōki touched his cheek before leaning down to kiss him again.

“Fine. You just need some time. Let’s go outside for a bit.” Not entirely sure whether he could trust _Kōki_ right now, he resisted when he tried to pull him up.

“Where?”

“How long has it been since you’ve actually been out of this building?”

It was slightly unnerving to admit that he hadn’t left the hospital since he’d been admitted—too nervous to make his way outside and too proud to ask for help. But Kōki knew the truth and after tugging his hand away from the bandage and reprimanding him he found himself being pulled out of his room and forcefully taken outside until the sun was beating against them and he was surrounded by the scent of flowers. “The flowers are surprisingly good for a hospital,” Kōki said softly once he’d led them to a bench. “Normally the arrangement is really cliché—it is in the other garden—but here it’s almost like a collection of wildflowers.”

“There’s a stream too?” Seijūrō asked, identifying the sound which was a low backdrop to Kōki’s words.

“Yes, a small one. It’s alongside the path. The sun is really bright against the water and it’s shallow and clear enough that we can see the rocks. Once you get close to them they’re every colour but grey. The bench we’re sitting on is under a sakura tree and it’s going to blossom in the next couple of weeks I suppose. We’re pretty much alone here.”

“Pretty much alone?”

“We’re alone. Most people go to the garden on the other side of the building.”

Seijūrō leant closer until his forehead was against Kōki’s hair and listened as his breath hitched when he brushed his hand up his thigh. “Sei,” he said, a familiar scolding tone to his voice as he put his hand on Seijūrō’s to stop it from moving any higher. Seijūrō compensated himself by lightly biting the lobe of his ear. “Just because we’re alone now doesn’t mean we will be in a couple of minutes,” he said. Smiling at the quiver in his voice, Seijūrō pulled him closer. “Sei, our first time is not going to be at the hospital.”

His tone was firm enough (even though he didn’t push Seijūrō’s hand away from his leg) that Seijūrō sighed and leant his chin against Kōki’s shoulder. “Really?”

“Really. You need to get better first.”

“I am better. I have you, don’t I?”

Kōki was quiet at that and his hand tightened against Seijūrō’s, the other touching his cheek. “You… you can’t rely on me for something like your mental health, Sei. That’s not right. You have to get better of your own accord, not rely on me.”

He could see the logic in that, even though he didn’t see anything wrong in relying on someone as dependable and solid as he’d come to realise Kōki was, and settled with his head on Kōki’s shoulder.

“Do you want to go in now?”

“We can stay here for a bit longer.”

——-

With things as they were, new and creating different perspectives that he hadn’t felt were worth considering before, the dream had to alter as a result. He was holding Kōki in his mind like a talisman, even when the blood covered the mirror and it cracked his face in half, even at the voice (which he was starting to recognise and almost kicking himself for not realising it beforehand) and when Tetsuya was on the ground writhing in pain, instead of running away he knelt beside him, reaching for him.

“Tetsuya, I can…” his voice trailed away when Tetsuya vanished, not even leaving the pool of blood behind. He touched the spot where Tetsuya had been. The floor, though wooden, was stone cold and rougher than it seemed at first sight. When he looked about him, the temperature of the room dropped—almost audible and visible in the way it sharpened everything. The figure in the now-intact mirror—a strange mixture of familiarity and strangeness—caught his eye.

It was himself, or the part of himself that he’d tried to suppress. The two golden eyes were glaring at him in disgust. Seijūrō felt like his head had broken water and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his own eyes were red, and would be red in wakefulness if he still had them.

“ _Weak_ ,” the figure said, and though in the mirror his mouth moved, the voice came from beside Seijūrō’s ear. Hands tightened on his shoulders but none were there when he checked.

Seijūrō shook his head. “You’re the weak one.”

Taking control of his dream—it was _his_ dream, after all, not the Emperor’s dream—he willed the mirror to shatter and the pieces to skitter across the floor. Pinching the skin on his leg as the presence behind him dissipated and leaving a lingering scent of flowers, he forced his eyes shut and awoke.

——-

The lingering pride he still had made it a difficult task to pick up his phone and ask Tetsuya to come, but after glaring as well as he could in the general direction of Kōki’s snickering Tetsuya agreed and said he would be right over. The bed dipped with Kōki’s weight as he perched next to Seijūrō and pulled his hand away from where it was tugging on the bandage. “Does it really make you that nervous that you’re just going to apologise?”

“Usually I don’t need to. I used to never be wrong.” Kōki pinched his cheek and Seijūrō pushed his hand away reproachfully. “That hurt,” he said, rubbing his cheek.

“That’s what you get for saying something like that.”

Seijūrō muttered a curse under his breath and faced the breeze coming through the open window.

“Don’t bite your lip,” he continued, touching Seijūrō’s lower lip with his thumb—ah, he’d found something else to scold him for—before kissing him. Though obviously meaning it to be a quick peck, when Seijūrō pulled him closer and twisted his hands through his hair he stayed, biting Seijūrō’s lip himself as Seijūrō traced the outline of his waist. Whether it was compensating for the loss of one sense or just because he was so _aware_ of Kōki, his touch seemed heightened, so that every time Kōki moved against him or Seijūrō moved his hand, he felt as if he could map out every part of him in his mind. He didn’t need his sight to know that Kōki’s body was beautiful when he could feel the muscle under skin like gossamer and every rib, the dip of his spine and the jutting of his shoulder blades, accentuated when his back arched at the slow movement of Seijūrō’s hands.

“F-Furihata-kun? Akashi-kun?”

Kōki yelped at Tetsuya’s voice and, from what Seijūrō could tell, almost leapt off the bed. Seijūrō smirked when he started stammering broken explanations (which didn’t make much sense as it was, apart from the shouted “It was all Sei’s fault!” at the end). Having _this_ kind of power over someone was different; they were on a level ground when Seijūrō knew that, if Kōki really wanted to, he could prompt the same reaction in Seijūrō. After he’d stopped talking and said in a small voice that he would be leaving, Seijūrō called after him. “Uh, yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Oh, _Sei_ , you… argh.” He sighed and said in a muffled voice, “I love you too.” Seijūrō had expected him not to say it back—after all, Tetsuya was still in the room—and was half-tempted to throw Tetsuya out so they could continue where they had left off, but having had asked Tetsuya down especially so he could apologise for his actions Kōki probably wouldn’t have been too happy with that turn of events. Seijūrō leant back against the wall with a contented sigh.

“So, Akashi-kun, you wanted me to come down?” Tetsuya said, his voice coming from beside Seijūrō. “I presume it wasn’t to see _that_.”

“Not especially. I forgot that I’d called you.”

“You called me five minutes ago.”

“It’s amazing what that boy can do in five minutes.”

Seijūrō was pretty sure that the sound that came from Tetsuya then was a cough masking a laugh, but other than glaring as best he could in his direction (which was easier to convey now that his eyebrows were visible) he decided not to react. “I… I wanted to apologise.”

“You did?” Tetsuya said, his surprise not especially audible but still there. “What for?”

“For that game. Against your friend.” Tetsuya didn’t say anything, but Seijūrō had the impression that he was listening intently. “I broke my promise to you and in doing that, I made it impossible for you to keep your promise. I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough to just say that, but—”

“It’s alright, Akashi-kun.” A small hand squeezed his before letting it go. “That is enough. I forgive you.”

With those words, the final weight against his shoulders was lifted and he felt himself relaxing as he hadn’t in years. “Thank you,” he said.

That night, instead of a menacing dream, he was looking at himself in the mirror with two red eyes, the presence around him comforting with the scent of flowers and vanilla.

——-

When—after considering it for several hours as Reo fussed over how quiet he was being and demanded Eikichi and Kotarō to do _something_ (what they could do, Seijūrō had no idea)—Seijūrō told Kōki that he would in fact be going into… _therapy_ by himself and Kōki, after kissing him several times and pulling his hips enticingly close to his own, seemed perfectly happy and rather proud of the fact, he entered the room and sat at the sofa by himself, mentally daring the doctor to say anything.

“No Kōki today?” he asked. Seijūrō felt the muscles around his socket twitch and was fairly glad that the bandage obscured his reaction.

“I want to get out of here. So if you think I need therapy I’ll take it so that I can be free.”

When the doctor sighed and started tapping his foot against the floor it took all of Seijūrō’s concentration not to get up and drag Kōki back in. “You need the therapy to be more at ease with yourself.”

“I am at ease with myself.”

“Whether or not you’re with Kōki.”

Seijūrō crossed his arms and tensed his jaw, the edges of the black tinging with red. “Why is it so bad if I rely on him? I trust him.”

“I know,” he answered in a soothing voice which only grated on Seijūrō’s nerves. “But mental health shouldn’t be dependent on others. It’s not mentally healthy and it doesn’t lead to a healthy relationship either.”

“My relationship with Kōki is perfectly healthy.”

“It will be once you are no longer dependent on him.”

Taking a deep breath and readying to launch accusations in his direction, he was stopped by how Kōki felt when he was disappointed, the brief time his touches would last and the slightly clipped tone to his voice. After holding the breath in for several seconds he slowly let it out, feeling himself sinking into the sofa and his shoulders relaxing.

“Tell me about the past few days. Have your dreams developed at all?”

Trying to avoid the paranoid feeling of someone probing at his mind, he admitted, “Actually, it’s been developing over the past few weeks.” The doctor didn’t reply, for which Seijūrō was grateful. Had he made any sound, an angry comment, a sarcastic sound, even taken an audible breath in, Seijūrō would have left. But he remained silent and, from what Seijūrō could tell, perfectly still. He waited in peace until Seijūrō continued.

——-

“How was it?”

It didn’t surprise Seijūrō when he heard Kōki as soon as he left the office. He reached out his hand until Kōki took it, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before leading him back to his room. “Not too bad,” he answered. “But I just want it all to be over.”

“It will be soon,” Kōki said. “Now that you’ve started being proactive you’ll be out of here in no time.” He shut the door behind them and Seijūrō looked over his shoulder.

“And you’ll hold up your end of the deal?”

“My end of the…?” he trailed off and slapped Seijūrō’s arm lightly. “Sei, _please_ don’t tell me _that’s_ why you’re taking the therapy sessions.”

“It’s a good incentive, isn’t it?”

“That better be a joke, because if it isn’t I’ll make you wait longer.”

Seijūrō reached out to find his hips and pull him closer. “It’s not just that. I want to start my life with you.” Kōki’s arms went around his neck and twisted his hair around his fingers, the strands being tugged almost like a massage. He leant his forehead against Kōki’s.

“You need to get better for yourself, Sei.”

Seijūrō sighed and instead buried his face into Kōki’s neck, breathing in the scent of flowers that was always on his skin. Relying on someone as dependable as Kōki _couldn’t_ be bad, no matter what people said. So what if his goal wasn’t getting better for the sake of getting better but to be with Kōki? If anything, living for someone else was better. More… noble, maybe.

“I have to go,” he said softly after a while of standing there, his hand stroking through Seijūrō’s hair and every now and then pushing a bit closer.

Seijūrō felt like he’d been roused from a dreamless sleep and tightened his hold on Kōki. “You do?”

“Yes,” Kōki said, extracting himself from Seijūrō’s arms after kissing his forehead. “It’s my brother’s birthday.”

“You have a brother?”

“Uh-huh. Kaitō. He’s a few years younger than me.”

Seijūrō made his way to his bed and sat on it. “I feel like I should have known that.”

“Maybe,” he said with a teasing tone. “But we have decades to learn all that. You can make it up to me tomorrow. Help me with my schoolwork or something.”

“ _Schoolwork_ isn’t really what I’d think of by ‘making it up to you’.”

“I know, but you’re a pervert.”

Seijūrō was still laughing at that after Kōki left.

——-

Had he known, then of course he would have tried to stop it. With his mind piecing itself back together and the future he wanted tangibly close, he’d let his guard down, forgotten that someone like _him_ , who had caused so much pain, could only have a limited amount of happiness.

The first inkling that something was wrong was in his dream that night. Completely different this time; instead of a dark room he was outside. The sky was the purple of a storm and lightning struck the ground; far from Seijūrō, but still deafening and he felt the current as static electricity over his skin.

The trees were upside-down, the leaves melting into the grass and Seijūrō approached one slowly, almost trembling with tension and apprehension. These were _his_ dreams, his purely. No one else was in his mind, he’d taken full control. So taking control of a dream would be easy. He could bring Kōki in here. Once he started focussing on that the smell of flowers permeated the air. The lightning died away, the tension disappeared. He looked around himself expectantly until he saw a brunet head lying in the shade next to a tree and started towards him, half-wondering whether dream-Kōki would be easier to coerce.

It was about three steps away from him that he realised it wasn’t all quite right.

He was perfectly still, his chest hardly even moving with his breaths. “Kōki,” Seijūrō said insistently. There was no reaction. Seijūrō, on his knees next to him, tried to will him to wake, but his eyes remained closed. Some sort of sleeping beauty scenario? Sighing, he touched his cheek, marvelling at how real the sensations seemed.

His eyelids fluttered open and he met his eyes. People who said that Seijūrō’s eyes were beautiful were idiotic, he decided. _This_ was true beauty.

“You’re hurting me,” he whispered. He flinched away, his movements oddly jerky and stilted.

“What?” He watched in horror as a bruise formed on Kōki’s cheek, where he’d been touching him. Kōki covered it with his hand and edged further away. “Kōki, I didn’t…” He reached out to take hold of his arm.

“No! Please, don’t!” Blood came from between Seijūrō’s fingers and he let go. A cut, the shape of his hand, marring the skin. “I’m begging you, Sei, just leave me alone.”

He kept his hands up, palms outwards, but Kōki still broke away and ran from him. The grass around him seemed to catch hold of his feet and Seijūrō looked at the blood on his hands.

_I… hurt him? How?_

The blood danced over his palms and worked its way up his arms. He closed his eyes.

He knew he had woken up when, upon reaching out instinctively he hit his hand on the wall. Instead of crying out at the pain he called Kōki’s name. Trying to get out of the bed took some time—he must have moved a lot in his sleep and was tangled in the covers—and he reached out in the darkness, feeling as if he had been blinded again. He felt as if something was dulling his other senses.

After locating the door, walking once into a chair and another time into a cabinet, he pushed it open with some difficulty. The sounds from the hallway washed over him, dulling his senses even more.

“Akashi-kun!”

The… the doctor. “Where’s Kōki?” he demanded, not bothering with the formalities. Once the doctor told him where he was, maybe went to fetch him, this sensation of being blinded all over again and his other senses hijacked would be gone. Kōki would know exactly what to say and how to distract him.

He repeated his question when the doctor didn’t answer, louder and audibly more panicked. He bit his tongue; why was he showing such weakness in front of him?

“Listen, Akashi-kun…”

He stopped talking and Seijūrō, impatient, readied himself to launch a barrage of complaints, until he said in a soft voice, “You might want to sit down.”

“I’ll stand,” Seijūrō said stiffly. “Where _is_ he?”

By the air around him, he seemed displeased by Seijūrō’s reaction, but didn’t comment. “It’s just… there was an accident,” he said in a strained voice.

“So? Where is he?”

The was a pause, and it dawned on Seijūrō like an eclipse just before the words were said. “He didn’t make it, Akashi-kun.”

He… he was listening from the bottom of an ocean. Waves were crashing over him, he didn’t have to think about the ramifications of what the doctor had just said. It didn’t have to mean anything if he didn’t want it to. This couldn’t have _happened_ , after all.

“I… I don’t…”

“We can talk it over in therapy.”

“The…rapy?” He tugged on the bandage, felt the ghost of Kōki’s hand tug his away and heard his name said in a reprimanding way. “But Kōki…”

There was no answer to the plea. There _wouldn’t_ be, now. What was said about these things happening, how he’d felt when his mother died, the realisation that for him, of _course_ happiness would have some sort of expiration date tacked to it, it wasn’t enough. His knees were weak, and the collision against a cabinet sent one of the vases of flowers crashing to the floor. The scent of flowers was overwhelming and stifling and mocked him with false promises. Hands on his arms, cool and firm, brought him back for a moment, walking him back to his bed and sitting him down. “Akashi-kun, you’re going to have to talk about this.”

He dug his nails into his palm and it hurt more than it should have; he must have hit his hand on the wall hard enough to damage something. He couldn’t help but wish it was something permanently damaged and irreparable. Because if Kōki was… _gone_ , then there had to be some kind of blemish somewhere. Somewhere that he could feel and never forget. The doctor said his name again. “ _Talk_?”

“Yes, Akashi-kun.”

About _what_? He felt like his grip was loosening and tugged on the bandage again, digging his nails into the fabric when he didn’t feel Kōki’s hand or hear his voice, dragging his nails down his cheeks and tearing the bandage off in the process as the doctor raised his voice and pulled his hands away, calling out for assistance.

Some kind of blur in his mind, or even in the surroundings for all Seijūrō knew, dulled his senses again and instead all he could think of was that dream; Kōki under the tree, the blood that had covered his body when Seijūrō touched him. It was his own fault, he’d become complacent and lazy, allowing anyone so deep when humans were frail and fallible. Hadn’t he learnt that when his mother died? No one human could be relied upon—they would always be taken away and fail him.

When he felt his mind realigning itself he wasn’t in his room. The scent of flowers wasn’t there and the air felt different. When he tried to get up, something restricted him; he was only able to raise himself a few centimetres and his hands were bound to his sides. He yanked on the binds, until he heard steps hurrying towards him and had an overwhelming desire to shut his eyes tight and cover his face with his arms. “Seijūrō, calm yourself!”

He hardly recognised his father’s voice, and couldn’t work out whether it was through his father’s panic or his own. He didn’t stop struggling as hands tightened on his shoulders. In the haze, he couldn’t work out what it was which was restraining him. It wasn’t until after he begged his father to let him free and he heard the velcro that it clicked. “A straight-jacket?” he said.

“You were hurting yourself,” his father said in a strained voice. When Seijūrō grimaced and felt the sting in his cheeks it came back to him, and he carefully ran his fingers over his face, fighting the urge to dig in his nails again. That would only lead to being strapped in again—that was something he was sure would drive him to madness. “Seijūrō, your wrists.” His attention was brought by the tone in his voice to the stinging in his wrists, which peaked when he touched them. He must have been struggling when he had been mostly unconscious and had rubbed them raw. “Hang on, I’ll call someone.”

“Don’t!”

“Seijūrō, you need to be treated.” He’d expected his father to be commanding, so when his voice broke, Seijūrō couldn’t reply, just face him and wait for the explanation. “You… I thought you were better. You seemed better.”

Still unable to reply to what he’d said, Seijūrō swallowed. “Can you open a window?”

“Stop pulling on your bandage like that,” he said under his breath. Seijūrō slowly lowered his hand as heard a window open and felt a soft breeze against his skin, bringing a painfully faint scent of flowers. “Was… was that boy really so important to you, Seijūrō?”

His breath came out as if over a ragged edge and his eyes… where they _should_ have been, burnt as if he was about to cry. Not that he could anymore; he’d cut that weakness out of himself as well as his eyes. Emotion was too much; he wanted to be as uncaring as he had been before and felt that part of himself beckoning him, almost saw the cruel smile in the mirror and the almost supernatural light in the yellow eye. It would be so easy to fall back.

“Seijūrō? You can answer truthfully. I won’t… I won’t judge.”

Seijūrō only nodded, listened as the man beside him took a sharp breath in, waited for the blow or his departing presence.

But he only placed a gentle hand on his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, and though his voice was strained it seemed sincere. “But you can’t let that make you regress. You have to keep on getting better.”

Seijūrō bowed his head, tightening a fist in his t-shirt, but still held the grief inside himself.

——-

It was on one of his regular wanders around the hospital hallways that he bumped into someone, winced as his hand throbbed and felt as if he was going into shock when he recognised the voice when it apologised.

“Chihiro?”

“Akashi? Oh, I… I almost didn’t recognise you.”

Seijūrō shifted his weight from one leg to the other, well aware that he didn’t seem the same because of restless nights when he was strapped in the straight-jacket. “What are you doing here?”

“I… uh… Kuroko told me what happened and I haven’t actually visited and felt kind of bad about it.”

Seijūrō had the distinct impression that he was being acutely observed by Chihiro and tightened his hand around the stick he now used whenever he left his room now that Kōki could no longer guide him. Chihiro seeing him in this state, with his deteriorating body and the bandages around his wrists to stop him rubbing them against the binds of the straight-jacket was embarrassing. Seemed like he still cared about what Chihiro thought of him and due to that, his voice was particularly clipped. “Tetsuya?”

“Y-yeah. We’ve been talking a bit since the Winter Cup.” He paused and Seijūrō tapped the stick against the floor. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to mention—”

“Just the mention of the words ‘Winter Cup’ won’t send me on some bender,” Seijūrō said, slightly amused despite himself. “I don’t mind the fact that we lost.”

“You don’t?” Seijūrō let him struggle through that realisation himself, still tapping the stick against the ground. “Oh, well that’s… good.” His voice approached and Seijūrō pressed his lips together. “So, uh, how have you been?”

It was rather beneath Seijūrō to answer such an inane question, so he raised an eyebrow until Chihiro sighed. “Sorry. Do you mind if we talk in your room or something?”

The thought of Chihiro seeing how he was living now, the straight-jacket he was strapped into every night on his bed, everything plain and barren from what he could tell when he felt the walls and the lack of furniture apart from a plastic chair bolted to the floor, was distasteful enough that he objected louder than he would have wanted to. He smiled tightly, clenching his teeth. “Sorry. I don’t get all that much freedom except during the day. We can go outside.”

“Yeah, sure. D-do you need any help?”

He could remember the feel of Kōki’s hand on his elbow, guiding him and the security he had felt from trusting someone so much. Feeling a coldness settling over his skin, he shook his head, insisted that he was perfectly capable and started down the hall again, feeling Chihiro beside him.

——-

“Shall we stop here?”

After several minutes of walking around, Seijūrō was relieved that Chihiro had made up his mind and stopped in his tracks, no longer having to attempt to follow a map in his head, which was gradually getting more exhausting to remember.

“There’s a bench on the other side of the path,” he added. An uncertain hand touched his elbow, and Seijūrō resisted for a bit before allowing Chihiro to lead him, still feeling in front of him with the stick. “You can _trust_ me, you know. I’m not so cruel as to let you walk into something.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You don’t need to be so proud either.”

Feeling himself at a stalemate and growing annoyance at Chihiro’s stubbornness, he sat on the bench and balanced the stick against his leg.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier,” he said. “And… this is probably more to make myself feel better. You know I can be a bit selfish sometimes. But no one should have to go through losing—”

“Don’t say it.” Although he’d made sure his voice was quiet and steady, Chihiro still stopped immediately. “But I’m sorry too.”

“For what?”

“For treating you the way I did during the game.” When Chihiro didn’t reply he turned his face away. “I thought of all of you as nothing more than tools for my own success, and… and we didn’t win, in the end. You deserved better.”

“You’re really different.”

At a deep breath, fighting against the hitching in his throat and cursing just how _weak_ he felt, the scent of flowers was almost overpowering; more intense than since before Kōki died. When he focussed on that, and the sound of the trees when the wind stirred the branches and the running of water, he had to trace his steps back in his mind before asking Chihiro, “Could you describe the surroundings for me, please?”

“Sure?” He shifted on the bench and Seijūrō remained impassive. “Well, there’s a path and a really clear stream running next to it with rocks in the bottom. Our bench is under a sakura tree which is in bloom. And—”

“That’s enough.”

“What?”

“Thank you. Would you mind staying here for a little longer? Just don’t… talk.”

“Huh?”

Since that wasn’t actually talking as such, Seijūrō let him get away with it and leant back, letting the scent of flowers surround him and memories of the last time he’d been here run through his mind. He had been so close then, such an ideal future within arms reach. Had Kōki still been alive he wouldn’t have felt the need to keep Chihiro close just to have a presence next to him. Being _alone_ wouldn’t mean what it did now.

“Akashi, it’s starting to rain.” Just as Chihiro said that, he felt a drop on his cheek.

“You can leave if you want. I’m staying here.”

He expected him to take the opportunity, and so when there was no movement he was surprised and rather curious. After a couple of minutes of mulling over the various possibilities Chihiro took his wrist and pulled it closer to him. “You should stop digging your nails into your hand like that. I can tell it’s hurting you.” It hadn’t actually been hurting him; he hadn’t realised he’d been doing it, but once it was brought to his attention he could feel the stinging pain from new wounds on his hand and the bone-deep ache in the other one. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

“I don’t have much of a reason to.” The reason had died along with Kōki, after all.

“What are you talking about? This place is _awful_. And I can’t imagine how bad it would be to stay here constantly.”

Seijūrō smiled as good-naturedly as he could as the rain started coming down harder. Chihiro swore under his breath. “You should get back in. Can you find your way?”

“Of course.” Seijūrō picked up his stick and found his way back to the path before starting to walk down it, feeling Chihiro’s presence behind him fade away and something akin to hope.

——-

It was on Chihiro’s fifth visit that Seijūrō accidentally opened the door to his room too early. He had taken to walking Seijūrō back to his door; Seijūrō wasn’t entirely sure why but didn’t protest. It felt good, after all, to have someone do something so small and simple for him. So, caught off-guard, he opened his door just before Chihiro left and didn’t remember until Chihiro made an odd, strangled sound and put his foot in the path of the door so Seijūrō couldn’t shut it again. “ _Chihiro_ , back away now!”

“Is that a straight-jacket?”

It took jabbing him in the side and hitting him across the shins with Seijūrō’s stick before he backed away and Seijūrō stood as proudly as he could with his cheeks heating up and shame constricting him. “It’s none of your business.”

“They put you in a straight-jacket at night?”

Seijūrō clenched his hands into fists and lowered his eyebrows impatiently. “As I said, _it’s none of your business_.”

He almost regretted how harshly he’d spoken, until Chihiro said, “What, isn’t the therapy working?”

“I’m not in therapy,” he said back. Hadn’t been able to bear it after loosing Kōki.

“Why aren’t you, then? Kuroko said you’d regressed, and in the time I’ve been here I’ve only seen you getting worse.”

“It’s my choice whether I take the therapy or not, isn’t it? I don’t _want_ to get better.”

Chihiro didn’t understand, he could tell. He opened the door; no longer having anything to hide from him, and until Chihiro spoke again didn’t realise he had walked in behind him. “You don’t want to get better? You don’t want to no longer have to sleep strapped to a _straight-jacket_?” He followed Seijūrō to the window and struggled a bit with opening it until the faint smell of flowers reached him; the only thing now which could clear his head. He knew when Chihiro took an audible breath in that he had to brace himself, and turned away when he said, “Is this about Furihata?”

Hearing his name said with so little emotion, as if it wasn’t weighted as it was and didn’t mean anything made the black of his vision brighten to white. “Don’t say his name,” he said, meaning for his voice to stay steady and low but it cracked with his anger. “Don’t _ever_ say his name. You don’t understand anything.”

“I understand that you’re ruining your life for someone who’s _dead_. What are you scared of?”

It took a few seconds, during which Seijūrō felt his heart race and his breathing mount as if he was running a marathon, before he ordered Chihiro to leave, he himself remaining beside the window and trying to block out the images of Kōki lifeless and unapproachable in the ground.

——-

The next person he ran into when he was walking around the halls was someone he wanted to be in the same vicinity as about as much as he did Chihiro (namely, not in the slightest). He apologised automatically, bracing himself with the stick so he wouldn’t fall to the ground and felt his heart drop when the doctor said, “No, it was my fault, Akashi-kun. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He wanted to run, but wasn’t confident enough in his surroundings to trust that he wouldn’t hurt himself. Seijūrō tried to keep outwardly emotionless when the doctor continued; “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Not since he’d found out about Kōki. He couldn’t bear to be in the same room as this man and not feel Kōki’s hand on his arm, his gentle, chiding tone or the way he would reproachfully say his name if he did something Kōki didn’t approve of. “Fine,” he said curtly.

“Stop playing with your bandage.”

Seijūrō lowered his hand. “I’m fine.”

“Really? You’ve stopped hurting yourself?”

Seijūrō put his hands behind his back, hiding the bandages on his wrists—though the doctor must have already seen them. It wasn’t as if he was purposefully hurting himself, after all; in his sleep he struggled against the bonds of the straight-jacket enough to scrape off the skin and the bandage was a precautionary measure. “Should you really be saying that so lightly?”

“I’m not saying it lightly, Akashi-kun. You’ve tested my patience too much.”

Seijūrō felt a chill go through him but stood straight. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Don’t test me more. Will you be coming back to therapy or am I wasting my time?” When Seijūrō didn’t answer he continued. “There are patients here who want to be better and are fighting to; you’re staying here, entirely stationary. If only you tried you would have a chance.”

“I don’t want to be better.”

“Then your life is in your own hands.”

“But I’m not scared,” he continued stubbornly, ignoring the doctor’s words. What Chihiro had said still angered him, the way he had said Kōki’s name as if it was nothing, the insult that _he_ , Akashi Seijūrō, had the slightest fear of anything. “So I will come to therapy,” he said. The doctor sighed and Seijūrō crossed his arms. “When can you see me?”

He almost walked away when the doctor sighed but Chihiro’s words were still ringing in his ears. “I could see you now.”

Seijūrō nodded. “Fine. I’ll see you now.”

——-

He was tense enough that the doctor had to continuously remind him not to tug on his various bandages or dig his nails into his hands. Once he’d remedied the situation—by sitting on his hands—the doctor asked him, “Have you been sleeping well?”

“What kind of banal question is that?” Under his thighs, his hands were clenching into fists and instead of pinching his skin through his trousers like he really wanted to, he clenched his teeth.

“An important one, Akashi-kun,” he said calmly. “Depression is heightened by lack of sleep.”

“I’m not depressed.”

“Oh?” He heard a pen scratch something onto paper and could almost hear it spelling out ‘ _denial_ ’.

“I’m not in denial!”

“Then how do you feel about everything?”

It was something that he hadn’t allowed himself to think about consciously, but the doctor’s outright question brought the consideration into his mind. How _did_ he feel about it? About losing the one person who made him feel like he deserved happiness and a normal life, that it _wasn’t_ unreasonable or selfish to want these things? He’d wanted a life, a family with Kōki. “I’m… angry.”

“Towards whom?”

He dug his nails into the sofa and turned his head slightly towards the direction where Kōki had always sat. “Towards Kōki,” he admitted. “It’s like… he forgot that I needed him.”

The pen scratched on the paper again and Seijūrō turned his head swiftly in the direction of the sound. “What are you writing?”

“What you just told me,” he said in a soothing voice which grated on Seijūrō’s nerves. “And answer me this time; how are you sleeping?”

Seijūrō leant back against the cushions. How to tell him that though he no longer dreamed, he was stuck whenever he could bring himself to sleep, in impenetrable darkness, that this was somehow worse than the nightmares and only reminded him that he had more of the same when he was awake, no sight, no feeling but loss? “My sleeping is not the problem,” he said. “I prefer not to sleep, but I’m sure a lot of people think that.”

“Sleeping is one of those things you have to do.” He seemed to be talking slightly sarcastically and Seijūrō hit the stick against the floor. “And another thing that you have to do is let go of the grief.”

“Let go?”

“You can’t keep it bottled inside, Seijūrō. You’ll crash if you do that.”

“Good.”

“Where are these self-destructive tendencies coming from?”

It wasn’t until the doctor reminded him that he realised he’d taken a hand out from under himself and was starting to claw underneath the bandage, and he placed his hand in his lap instead. “The world doesn’t care,” he finally said, when the doctor had started tapping his pen against the paper. “It doesn’t care that Kōki’s gone. Everything is going as it should, when it _shouldn’t_ be. There should be something missing for everyone.”

“He was important to you.”

“He was more than that,” Seijūrō said in a low voice. The doctor waited patiently for him to continue. “So at least… if _I’m_ broken, there’s proof that he was here. That losing him is a real loss, not just something that happened and then people moved on.”

“You have to move on.”

“I don’t.”

“Akashi-kun—”

“I’m _not_ moving on from him.” When there was nothing but silence, which only reinforced the darkness of his vision, he shook his head. “I’m not letting him go. I won’t let it be as if he was never here.”

After a moment, he heard the doctor get up, move closer and pull his hand away from the bandage by his wrist. “The thing is, by doing this, you’re not honouring him. Kōki was ready to dedicate his life to helping people be healthy, and once he was with you he was ready to dedicate his life to you. By injuring yourself and letting yourself go in this way you’re going against everything he spent his life fighting against. You want to know how to be proof that he was here? Get better. That’s how he would want to be remembered.”

——-

Seijūrō had sort of wished he could see Tetsuya’s expression the first time he saw the straight-jacket in Seijūrō’s room. After all, his voice had been shocked enough, and he’d spent some time in the doorway before saying, “The doctor said you were moved here,” uncertainly.

Seijūrō sighed and scratched the back of his head. “It isn’t what it looks like.”

“You have scratches on your face. And over your arms.”

“I don’t mean to do it.”

There was a pause as Seijūrō crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, until Tetsuya meekly said, “How have you been, Akashi-kun?”

Seijūrō, still not really sure why people would keep on asking him such a question when it should be _obvious_ , only reached for the stick next to the door. “Do you mind if we walk elsewhere? I don’t stay here during the day.”

“I don’t blame you.”

Where they stopped was outside somewhere, in a more crowded area to when he’d been with Kōki and Chihiro. Tetsuya pointed him to a bench, and once they sat said immediately, “So you’re going to therapy again?”

Seijūrō frowned. “How did you know that?”

“I assumed. Mayuzumi-senpai said that he had mentioned it to you.” Seijūrō’s breath caught in his throat at the mention of his name; since he’d told him to leave he hadn’t returned.

“He did? How is he, by the way?” He occupied himself with straightening the bandages on his wrists.

“He’s… fine.”

“I suppose he’s quite busy preparing for university.” That would explain his absence; better to think that than to consider the possibility that he’d driven away someone else.

“No. He’s not going to university, Akashi-kun. He decided to go straight to work.”

“Oh.” Fairly positive that Tetsuya was watching him narrowly, he faced forwards and remained expressionless. He hadn’t known that Kōki had a brother, didn’t know Chihiro’s plans for the future. Maybe his problems were making him self-centred, and he’d changed from being controlling and border-line abusive to… outwardly uncaring. Probably the real reason Chihiro was staying away.

“He’s been quite busy with interviews though.”

“Oh?”

Tetsuya coughed at his tone and to change the subject Seijūrō asked him about his own plans.

“I want to work with children,” he said distantly.

“Children?”

“Hmm. I’ve always been quite good with people younger than me.”

“Mentally too, hence Daiki and Kagami?”

“Akashi-kun,” he said in a reprimanding way, but with a smile in his usually unreadable voice. “But, basically, yes.”

Seijūrō, feeling more light-hearted than he had in a long time, leant back against the bench and laughed.

——-

“I want to know how it happened.”

The doctor, apparently shocked, dropped some papers. “Akashi-kun, you should knock before entering. I could have been in here with a patient.”

“But you’re not.”

The doctor sighed from the floor and papers rustled as he rearranged them. “No, I’m not. Just please knock next time.” His knees cracked as he stood up and he sighed again. “Come on in. I have an hour free anyway.” Seijūrō entered, tapping the sofa with his stick before sitting down. “You’ve adapted quite well, Akashi-kun,” he said.

Seijūrō ignored his words and balanced the stick on his lap. “I want to know how it happened,” he repeated.

“How what happened?”

“How… how he died.”

The tension in the room built with those words. To be perfectly honest, Seijūrō wasn’t sure if he was ready to know. The conversation would stay in his mind for the rest of his life, and the imagination which had just increased in power after he decimated his eyes would be so much more vivid. To know whether he’d suffered, whether the person responsible had been brought to justice, whether he would be able to go to his grave and lay flowers on it the same way Kōki had always brought flowers to his room would mean the end of believing that Kōki would walk through the door.

“Are you sure?”

His teeth dug into his bottom lip and he stopped his hand halfway to the bandage. “I’m sure. I need… I need to know.”

The doctor was quiet for a minute as Seijūrō prepared himself, feeling the tension enter his muscles. He was trembling, or the sofa was shaking and it took a hand placed where Kōki would have been sitting to centre himself.

“He… he was leaving a restaurant alone to get something from the car and there was a blind spot near the restaurant. The driver was speeding and hit him. By the time the ambulance got there it was too late.” The doctor’s voice wasn’t emotionless, not by a long shot, but compared to the tightening in Seijūrō’s throat, the way his heart was pounding (he was shaking again, couldn’t control the motion of his hands), it was nothing. “He was buried a week ago.”

It wasn’t until the doctor called out his name reproachfully and pulled on his wrists that Seijūrō realised he’d started clawing under his bandages again hard enough to draw blood. “Sorry,” he said automatically.

“Your other scratches were just healing,” he muttered as Seijūrō’s cheeks started stinging.

“I don’t mean to do it,” Seijūrō said back.

“Well you need to realise that you’re doing it before you even think of going back home.”

“I know.”

There was a pause as the doctor let go of his wrists and Seijūrō clasped his hands together. “You know?”

He braced himself and tried to abandon the pride he had left.

“So you’ll try to get better?”

Seijūrō sighed, faced the breeze coming through the window along with the comforting scent of flowers and felt the beginnings of a weight being lifted of his shoulders.

—————

_**Omake (just over one year later)** _

Sleeping had always been a problem, even when he was a child, so often Seijūrō had woken up before dawn, if only to go for a run around the grounds or down to the yard to watch the horses. It was different now, naturally. Never knowing whether the sun was up, he had to find the button on the clock his father had bought soon after he’d returned home, press it and wait for it to say the time. If it was an acceptable time (as in, later than five in the morning), he would allow himself to get up, feel around his dresser for the bandage and put it on.

Keiko scrabbled up when she heard her master rising and placed her chin on his lap as he put on the bandage, her tail hitting the bed hard enough to shake it.

It felt earlier than usual, and when the clock said in its robotic voice that it was a little after three he wasn’t surprised. When Keiko whined he ruffled her ears; the only way to keep her quiet when she wanted attention, though his hands were shaking. He hadn’t had _that_ dream, after all, for months now. He could still hear Kōki’s cries of pain and feel the blood on his hands. So instead of forcing himself to sleep again, which would only bring the dream back to his mind, he got up to feel his way downstairs, Keiko trotting along next to him.

“You’re lucky,” he told her once they’d gotten down the stairs. “A dog has nothing to worry about, does she?” And meanwhile he felt like he could suffocate. Recovery was fickle; in the year since he’d decided to get better and actively try to, he’d had more set-backs than he wanted to admit, and apparently this was _normal_.

Large paws placed themselves on his lap and the dog licked his hand. He was about to scold her until he realised he’d crouched down and his hands had moved to his cheeks to dig his nails into the skin. Dropping his hands onto Keiko’s neck and breathing harder than usual, he listened instead to the storm outside.

“You’d miss him too if you’d known him.” Keiko shook herself in response and let Seijūrō brace himself on her to get up onto his feet.

And although there was no way the scent of flowers would fight its way through a storm, he opened the window, the cold air and rain against his skin at least enough to distract him.

It was about three hours later that his father came down, closed the window as he said, “You’ll become ill if you don’t keep an eye on yourself, Seijūrō,” and led him to the dining table. “How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” Seijūrō lied. But he was pretty sure his lie was transparent seeing as Keiko, still tired, was fast asleep under the table. His father made a noise under his breath but didn’t comment.

After breakfast he organised his own work for his lessons as his father left for work, Seijūrō remaining with the help and slowly feeling his way through the Braille as Keiko put her chin on his leg again and whined hopefully. She remained like this, as she usually did, for an hour until she started barking and running in the direction of the front door. Seijūrō, cursing under his breath, followed her gingerly, keeping his hand outstretched in front of him. “Is there even anything there, Keiko?” he asked her as she barked again. Opening the door as he kept a hand on the dog’s harness, he waited.

“Oh, I was expecting… someone else. To open to the door.”

“Chihiro?”

“Yeah.”

He recognised the voice, of course. Chihiro hadn’t been far from his mind in the time that he had disappeared; one of those people he wondered about.

“You’re still wearing the bandage?”

Seijūrō crossed his arms, scolded Keiko when she growled and remained impassive. “By my own choice. I don’t have eyes anymore; I doubt it looks all that good.” In fact, he knew that it didn’t look good by the way his father had gasped in a strangled way the first time he had seen his son without the bandage.

“I… I suppose.” He was quiet, to a backdrop of Keiko’s nervous growling.

“Are you going to tell me why you came?” He heard Chihiro shifting and the growling peaked again as Seijūrō hushed her with a hand on her muzzle. “It’s been over a year, after all.”

“I know. And I’m sorry; it was just getting… complicated.”

Seijūrō pressed his lips together as Chihiro was quiet again, waited until the dog calmed, leaning against his leg and stepped back to let him in. When it came to such things, holding out hope that the next chapter in his life would redeem the last may have been an act of faith, but could be entirely worth it.


End file.
